


Destiel, Actually

by Bloodism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodism/pseuds/Bloodism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picture your typical rom-com cliché. Now picture Dean stuck in that rom-com cliché. With Castiel. Because that's what happening to him - a crazy whirlwind of your typical-and-not-so-typical cliché's. He's playing the main lead in all of them and Castiel's his counterpart. Of course, the culprit is obvious. Gabe's enjoying himself too much, lying back on his favourite cloud with a tub of salted popcorn.</p><p>It was about time someone kicked the two knuckleheads into gear.</p><p>"And... ACTION!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**1 – The Accidental Kiss**  
  
Now, Dean’s seen enough chick flicks and cheesy TV shows – motel television didn’t exactly let him be choosy – to know that the messed up accident that’s just occurred in Bobby’s kitchen has to be some sort of fluke. There has to be some crazy ass rom-com genie waving his blue hands and casting some voodoo crap on them because there was no way shit like this happened to real people.  
  
They’d been discussing a new hunt: a skinwalker who’d managed to sneak onto the set of a new rom-com show (how ironic) with the intention of biting the main male star. It was going to take a lot of planning to kidnap the dog, considering the little guy almost had as much security as the actors and actresses did.  
  
Castiel was accompanying them on the hunt because he was, air-quote, ‘restless’. It irked Dean, because Dean  _knew_  that Castiel was still babying them. The almost-apocalypse had shaken everyone to the bone. Dean certainly wouldn’t forget the terror of seeing the blood connect and open the door to Lucifer’s cage; wouldn’t forget seeing a circle of suited angels tear apart Lucifer with some macho weapon from Heaven; wouldn’t forget the guttural, ear-piercing scream that Lucifer had released into the church as he perished.  
  
And of course, he wouldn’t forget that the dicks had been playing him and Sam all along.  
  
Since then, Castiel had developed a sense of… protectiveness. He was following them and even the  _slightest_  danger was averted. It was like having a worried parent constantly looming over your shoulder, watching your every move, waiting for you do something wrong so they could glare at you with that look of disapproval that made you feel guilty.  
  
Dean was almost tempted to trip up on the sidewalk just to see if Castiel would smite it afterwards.  
  
“This ain’t gonna be easy,” Bobby says gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest and perching his hips against the backrest of a dining chair, “Skinwalkers are sneaky little creatures.”  
  
“They’re human too. We could catch him out, deal with him while he’s  _not_  a dog?” Sam suggests from where he’s seated at the table. Bobby readjusts himself.  
  
“’T’s not the killin’ that I’m worried about. Hollywood’s pretty tight with security.”  
  
“Don’t sweat it,” Dean chips in from opposite Sam, “We’ve got the angel express to ride.”  
  
Dean cringes the moment the words leave his lips.  _Bad choice of words…_  Sam and Bobby don’t notice. They’re watching Castiel, who’s leaning against the counter by the refrigerator, arms folded. The lazy furrow of his eyebrows makes the look he’s sending Dean ooze with dissatisfaction.  
  
“I’m not just a means for transport,” Castiel says defensively. Dean’s head jerks and his eyebrows raise a little, startled at the statement.  
  
“We know, Cas, we’re grateful you’re here to help us,” Sam amends quickly, throwing Dean a glance of disapproval. Dean snorts lightly, eyes still on Castiel, and leans backwards, lips tightening in irritation.  _What’s got his wings in a twist?_  
  
With a dazzled blink, Dean rises from his chair, craving for a beer. Risky case, irked Castiel, annoyed Sam – yep, just another average day. An average day that needed a shot of alcohol.  
  
And it’s in that moment, when Dean  _innocently_  steps forward, that he trips. Trips on a rug that he didn’t even knew Bobby owned.  _A rug… in a kitchen._ He’s hurtling forward and his hands stretch out to find purchase. They find a warm body, and then he’s falling towards it, chest pressing against it first, then knees and then no, lips.  
  
This is where we return to the beginning, where Dean’s wide-eyed, lips pressed dryly to a stunned angel’s, his mind racing with _this does not happen in real life._ He’s unsure how long he remains frozen in shock, but he’s jerked back before it can go on any longer. Castiel’s mouth is parted gently, he’s staring at Dean with big eyes, and Sam’s snorting with laughter behind him.  
  
“Well, ain’t you two just the prettiest princesses at the ball,” Bobby quips, though his gruffness is laced with amusement. Sam’s making ugly sounds in the back of his throat, laughter extending to hysteria. Dean knows it must be his face – he’s damn sure there’s no way the expression of outrageous disbelief is ever gonna fade.  
  
“I can _not_  believe that just happened,” he eventually manages to growl out, though his attempt at sounding nonchalant fails. He speaks quietly, mortified. Sam lets out another loud laugh and Bobby actually chuckles.  
  
“Dean…” Castiel starts, but Dean holds up a finger, wiping the back of his mouth with his other hand as though wiping away the memory.  
  
“Don’t. That never happened.” And then Dean’s heading towards the fridge, yanking out a beer bottle and plonking himself back in his chair  
  
 **2 – Close Quarters**  
  
So, they’re in. As far as Dean knew, Sam was dealing with the guy… dog…  _skinwalker,_ while he was trying to outrun a mob of security guards. He pushes past a props lady, knocking her tray of fake knives to the floor, but doesn’t waste time turning around to apologise. He can’t get caught, not again, not after what he’d been through. God knows how many Dean Winchester’s the cops have had crop up on their radar – he didn’t want to give them another one.  
  
He’s panting, his knees are jerky and stiff, and his lungs are screaming for oxygen. But as he whirls around the corner, he sees another endless corridor. With a tired roll of his eyes, he pushes himself forwards more, the slapping of footsteps behind him urging him to move.  
  
And that’s when he sees it – his way out. It’s a closet, half-open, and if he just pushes  _that much further_  he can squeeze himself into it before the guards can get around the corner. So he sprints with the last of his energy and bursts through it, kicking a bucket in the process. He’s slammed the door shut and jammed a broom under it, eyes taking time to adjust to the dark. It’s then he realises he’s not alone.  
  
He turns quickly, guard up, but halts when he sees who it is he’s sharing the closet with.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
Dean tries to push himself up against the door to regain some room, but the space from behind him seems to have  _shrunk_ , if that was even possible. Castiel is almost pressed against his front, personal bubble totally non-existent.  
  
“Cas? What the hell are you doin’ in here, man?” He whispers, keeping an ear out for the guards that had been pursuing him. The footsteps seem to have disappeared, which just adds to the crazy.  
  
“I thought you would require some assistance, but I’ve found myself unable to leave this room.” The angel lowers his head and stares at the floor in confusion. Dean frowns.  
  
“Did you, I don’t know, try and  _use the door?_ ” He asks sardonically, voice still just a loud whisper. Castiel raises his head to glare at him.  
  
“Of course,” he replies with attitude, “I tried everything.”  
  
Dean feels a slight inkling of amusement at the image of an exasperated Castiel attempting to kick down the door and failing. The two fall into a strange silence.  
  
“Well, this has been nice and all, but I’m getting outta here before the world decides to cast me and you as main leads in ‘the love story of a hunter and an angel and how they got trapped in a closet’,” Dean whispers. He struggles to turn without making contact with Castiel and ends up elbowing the angel in the ribs a few times before finally manoeuvring himself around. He knocks down the broom and rattles the doorknob. It doesn’t open.  
  
“Damnit,” he curses, trying to move back to give himself enough room to attempt a kick. He bumps back into Castiel and freezes because  _he did not just feel angel junk against the ridge of his hip_ . “Mind backing up a little, Cas? I’m feelin’ parts of you I’d rather not feel.”  
  
Castiel sighs heavily and the breath makes the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck itch.  
  
“I  _can’t._ There’s no room.”  
  
Letting out a quiet, empty growl of frustration, Dean rests his forehead against the door, blatantly ignoring Castiel’s belt digging against his ass cheek.  
  
“There’s someone behind this, isn’t there?” Dean says eventually, shuffling himself back around to face Castiel.  
  
“It would seem so.”  
  
Dean tilts his head back so it rests against the door, trying to breathe in fresh oxygen instead of the puffs of air that were being blown over his face. He looks down at Castiel along his cheeks.  
  
“Any ideas?”  
  
Castiel is weirdly stiff in front of him, definitely oblivious to the rising heat of the room. Two grown men in a tiny closet wasn’t exactly a  _cooling_  experience.  
  
“I have an idea, though the motives aren’t very clear.” Castiel sounds sceptical. Dean waits for him to elaborate.  
  
“So? Who’s the wise guy?” He asks irritably. Castiel lets out another sigh, which Dean  _wishes he’d stop doing._ Having another dude’s breath blow over your lips was just wrong.  
  
“Gabriel. He’s full of…” Castiel searches for the right word, “…tricks.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.  
  
“Gabriel? As in, the archangel?”  
  
“Yes, Gabriel, he’s—“ the words catch in Castiel’s throat, and he looks up in alarm. Dean figures he’s just stuck on what to say, until Castiel meets Dean’s gaze with wide, open eyes.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
Castiel shakes his head and points to his mouth. Dean almost can’t see the gesture in the dark, but he gets the general gist.  
  
“The dick put you on mute?”  
  
Castiel looks vaguely rattled by the obscene insult, but nods.  
  
Dean’s about to make a comment on pesky siblings, but he feels the wall behind him shift. He looks around at the floor in alarm, trying to keep his feet pushed as far back as possible, but then he’s fully against Castiel, their chests pressed together with absolutely  _no_  room behind him.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters to himself, raising his head. His nose bumps against Castiel’s and he freezes, eyes hooded as he looks down at the distance between their mouths. The non-existent distance. One wrong move and Dean’s lips are gonna be pressed to Castiel’s.  
  
And that’s not all that’ll be pressed against Castiel if he’s not careful. The last thing he want to do is move and cause pointless friction, because explaining  _that_  to an angel would not be a pleasant experience.  
  
There’s a mutual silence between the two; Castiel unable to speak and Dean not daring to. The air grows thick, and Dean sucks in a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, closing his eyes when the skin of his lip  _ever so lightly_  brushes against Castiel’s.  
  
He can’t look down, he can’t look up, he can’t look left or right. Every movement he wants to take might result in a kiss and he’s not in any rush to feel those soft lips on his again,  _no way._  
  
When the closet door finally opens behind him, he almost falls backwards. Sam clutches his shoulders to sturdy him and Castiel walks smoothly out, passive and a little red in the cheeks. Dean puts as much distance between them as he can.  
  
Sam’s looking at the two questionably.  
  
“Did you want some time alone or…”  
  
“Ask Cas for the details,” Sam looks disgusted, so Dean corrects himself, “Ask Cas why we were locked in a closet like some crappy high school movie set-up.” And then he storms away, away from the closet and Castiel.  
  
Of course, the reason his heart is beating so fast is because he’s walking fast.  
  
That’s all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: MILD DUB-CON
> 
> I used a traditional siren, not the one from 4.14. I also changed some of the mythology regarding the way to kill them. The bit of information Sam gives Dean is also made up.

**3 –Embrace the nakedness**

Castiel tries summoning Gabriel nicely, but he’s a no show. Which is fine, because a few weeks pass and nothing else happens. Dean’s glad – the past two experiences he’d shared with Cas weren’t exactly comfortable, and things between them had been a little tense since then.

It’s pretty obvious when things start piping up again. Because Sam and Dean are lounging at Bobby’s, enjoying a weekend off, when Castiel walks in from the kitchen with nothing but briefs to protect his modesty.

It actually takes Sam and Dean a while to register that yeah, this is Castiel in front of them and no, he isn’t wearing clothes.

“Um, Cas,” Dean starts, clearing his throat, “Where are your _clothes?”_ __

Castiel looks down at himself and then his head flies back up, an angry mutter spilling from his lips. It’s clear this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

“Gabriel,” he says and that’s reason enough for Dean. Dean tries to keep his eyes firmly on Castiel’s face, because there’s something that’s scratching at the back of his head, telling him that looking any further down would be inappropriate.

“What exactly is Gabriel trying to do?” Sam asks curiously after a moment’s silence. He’s looking between Dean and Castiel from where he’s sprawled out on the sofa and doesn’t seem affected by Castiel’s clothe-less presence. He had actually raised a sticky question, though – what was Gabriel’s game? Sure, he’d stuck Castiel and Dean in some awkward situations, but that didn’t explain much. Dean tips back on his chair while he ponders it.

“He’s behaving like a cherub,” Castiel says angrily and judging by the cautious expression that suddenly gets thrown up after he says it, it wasn’t something he had intended to say out loud.

“A cherub? You mean he’s acting like Cupid?” Dean doesn’t like the amusement and realisation spreading through Sam’s face and voice, considering he hasn’t quite caught on himself yet, “He’s trying to set you and Dean up?”

Dean tips back too far. He and the chair fall to the floor with a clatter.

Sam and Castiel don’t even spare him a glance and Dean’s glad – the angry flush that had spread to his cheeks wasn’t something Sam was likely to let him forget. He waits a few minutes, lying on the floor, willing the heat away, and then he clambers to his feet.

“Your dick of a brother is trying to hook us up?” Dean asks with disbelief. Castiel looks over to him anxiously.

“I believe he’s under the impression that _you_ are the reason I rebelled against Heaven, and therefore believe my feelings run deeper than I let on,” Castiel says tiresomely. Almost like it’s not the first time he’s been questioned about his loyalties.

“Well… do they? Your feelings I mean,” Sam asks nervously. He smiles uneasily at Dean and Castiel, who are watching him with speculative gazes, “Do you have secret feelings for Dean or something—“

“No,” Castiel and Dean say at the same time, though Castiel is calm and Dean is filled with outrage. Of course Cas didn’t _like_ him. That was ridiculous. Sam shrugs and smiles at them both, a twinkle in his eye.

“I dunno, I guess I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neither Dean nor Cas seem to be willing to put up an argument. Then, after accidentally glancing at Castiel’s too-tight briefs _again,_ Dean lets out an exasperated huff.

“Dude, put some clothes on. This is freaking me out.”

He blinks, and the trench coat ensemble is back in place. Tension that Dean hadn’t known was present falls out of his shoulders and he sits back in his chair.

Crisis over. __

**4 – Mrs Castiel**

“This is Gabriel,” Dean grinds out from between his teeth at Sam, whose amusement is shining through his eyes.

“I dunno, Dean. Seems a bit too much work for an angel who wants a little fun.”

“Siren at a homo convention? Only couples allowed? You really think this is a coincidence?” Dean snaps. He glares at Castiel. “You need to get your brothers ass down here, so I can kick it.”

Castiel doesn’t answer, just lowers his chin and frowns lightly at him.

“You know I’d go, but…” Sam trails off.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’ve gotta work your nerdy magic and hack into the security system. Just be quick, okay?” Dean huffs and readjusts his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the discomfort that crawls up his spine. In a fast movement, he reaches across and clutches Cas’s hand roughly in his own. “Let’s go, honey.”

Dean hears Sam snort behind him and the fact that his brother is finding the situation amusing eases him up a little. That was how he should be looking at – just another strange day on the job. That was it. After all, only straight men could act gay without worrying about accidentally swinging the wrong way.

Castiel seems a little perplexed at the hand-holding, but pleased nonetheless. He evens tightens his fingers a little around Dean’s, which Dean completely ignores. When they reach the desk, there’s an average looking guy with shortly-cropped blonde hair and too-tight clothing smiling brightly at them.

“Welcome to the LGBT Convention for Loving Couples!” The boy’s brightness fades a little as he looks between the two of them. “Um, excuse me for being rude, but you don’t seem like a loving couple.”

 _Yeah, damn right we don’t,_ Dean want so say, but instead he smiles tightly.

“It’s his first time with a guy,” he jerks his head into Castiel’s direction. The uncertainty in the boy’s eyes quickly fades and he smiles radiantly, handing them a leaflet.

“You’ve been missing out, dude,” he winks at Castiel and nods them through. Dean storms forwards, pulling Castiel behind him, hands still clamped tightly together.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters, before pushing his way through the pair of double doors. They’re in a big hall, dark wooden walls decorated with various pictures of male models sprawled over each other and a dance floor in the centre, filled with a throng of men and women. The music playing is surprisingly classy – not trashy, sweaty pop music, like Dean had expected.

“Sam said the siren will most likely be in a form that will receive a lot of attention,” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes at the occupants of the room. Dean tugs him into a dark corner, allowing them to survey the room without looking suspicious.

It takes a while, but Dean finally spots him. In the corner opposite them, there’s a dark-haired guy. Dean’s as straight as a pin, but even he has to admit, this guy is out-of-this-world kind of attractive – he’s got perfectly styled brown hair with a fringe that falls just above vibrant blue eyes and a small face that looks both feminine and masculine.

“There,” Dean lifts his left hand to point, but it’s still clasped around Castiel’s. He drops it and raises his other hand. Castiel follows the pointing gesture with a furrowed brow.

As though sensing the sudden scrutiny, the siren turns away from the crowd he’s speaking to and his eyes connect with Castiel’s. Dean tenses up and the wary frost that had stuck to his spine grows when _neither of them looks away._ __

“Cas?” Dean nudges him with his elbow. Castiel doesn’t flinch. Dean’s invisible to him now.

The angel’s feet move forwards by themselves, the hand that Dean’s clasping slowly slipping away. Castiel is walking forwards stiffly and Dean can’t do anything but watch. He pulls out his mobile and dials Sam’s number. Sam picks up after the first ring.

“Please say you’ve cracked the code. The son of a bitch has mind-whammied Cas,” Dean says.

“Yeah, I’m in. It’s the guy in the corner right?” Sam’s crackly voice says through the phone speaker. Dean watches Castiel’s departing back.

“Yes, it’s him, just hurry up and do it so I can gank his ass!”

“Dean, I can’t, we have to wait until he’s out of the room,” Sam replies, almost apologetically. The siren parts the crowd and meets Castiel half-way, outstretching a hand towards him. Dean’s crushing his teeth together, watching as the siren and Castiel walk away from him, away from the crowd, away from the hall.

 _Of all the people he had to choose from, it just had to be Cas. There’s no way Gabriel has nothing to do with this._ __

_“_ Follow him,” Sam says. With the phone still pressed to his ear, Dean dodges and swerves his way around the grinding men and snogging women, keeping his gaze firmly on the tan trenchcoat. They burst through a set of double doors and Dean follows them.

That’s when Sam presses the button. The doors slam shut and they lock, leaving Dean, Cas and the siren alone in the deserted hallway. The building’s on lockdown.

The siren has Castiel pressed against the wall, face dangerously close, eyes heavily-lidded with lust. Castiel has need and want etched into his features, and it looks so out of place, a jolt of anger spreads through Dean. Because this guy, this siren, is manipulating Cas in a _sexual_ way, and the only thing that has been known to scare Cas since he’d fell to Earth? _Sexual experiences._

He throws himself forwards and lunges at the siren, plan be damned. His fist connects with the guys jaw and he tumbles backwards, away from Cas, who’s still entranced, leaning against the wall with flushed cheeks and blown pupils.

“You sick bastard,” Dean growls, stepping forwards, hand stretching towards his back to reach for his knife. But the siren’s too fast; Dean finds himself pressed to the wall and the siren’s crushing their hips together _hard._

“Hunter,” the siren hisses, a sly grin spreading across his face. The friction is almost painful against Dean’s crotch and he sucks in a breath, head slamming backwards against the wall. “I wanted myself a little bit of angel, but you know,” he licks a stripe up Dean’s neck and Dean tries to push him away in disgust. He’s too strong. “I guess you might be tastier.”

Dean tries to move his arm to his upper back for the bronze dagger tucked into his belt, but there’s a harmony that makes his movements freeze. It’s a sweet, angelic sound, playing in his head. He struggles in alarm, glaring down at the siren, trying to push him away. He’s grinning cruelly, head tipping sideways.

“Oh? How _interesting,_ _”_ he hisses, baring his teeth. His bright blue eyes are sparkling, but Dean’s far from entranced. The tune in his head is dulled, like he’s hearing music that’s playing through a wall. “Seems you’re immune to my charms, Winchester. Guess I’ll have to get my meal some other way.”

Before Dean can blink, he’s released and his body is slumping forwards, breath catching in the back of his throat. He straightens up quickly, firm frown in place, reaching behind him for the bronze knife, ready to _slice the creepy motherfucker._ __

But then he’s got fists in his t-shirt again and he’s pushed against the wall with a different set of hands. It’s _Castiel_ who’s thrusting forwards, hips pressing against his. A spike of lust that’s definitely not _his_ shoots up his spine.

“How about you two give me a little show, hm?” The siren’s seated himself atop a trash can, expression alight and beautiful. Dean screws his eyes shut when Castiel leans forwards and starts sucking hungrily on his throat, hips pushing into his with a harsh rhythm.

“You son of a bitch, turn him _back,”_ Dean growls breathlessly. He knows that the desire he’s feeling isn’t his own – it’s being forced into him through Castiel, who’s watching him with wide eyes. Dean can see the panic behind the raw lust, the confusion clouding over the blue pupils. He eases himself back into the wall, pushing down the low growl that threatens to spill out when Cas jerks his pelvis against his in a long, excruciating grind. _Fuck, no._ __

Castiel’s knee shoves in between his parted legs and the breath Dean sucks in is stuttered, eyes fluttering. Castiel is losing it, forehead rolling along Dean’s collarbone, mouth pressing through the fabric, hips jutting deliciously. Dean closes his eyes and raises his hands to grip Cas’s forearms.

“Don’t. Cas, don’t. You can’t—“ he lets slip a winded gasp.   _If either of them blow their load, they’re gonna be siren fodder._

But the forced desire that’s thrumming through Dean’s body is too much and he’s getting closer, closer than Cas, who’s still panting and jerking his covered erection against Dean’s thigh.

Sam’s there. He bursts through the door, the device he’d used to unlock it in one hand, knife in the other. He doesn’t waste time. He hurls the knife as hard as he can and it flies through the air before burying itself deep into the siren’s heart. The siren gurgles, blood trickling down the smooth skin of his chin, and he’s dead before he hits the floor.

Castiel’s frozen, but his leg is still shoved between Dean’s and Dean’s close, so so so close, the borrowed lust still lingering. Cas lifts his head, eyes wide and horrified.

“Dean,” and then he moves his knee, brushing over the head of Dean’s cock through his jeans, and it’s too much. Dean goes flying over the edge, head snapping back, eyes clenching shut and fingertips digging into Castiel’s shoulders as he rides out his orgasm, a broken gasp falling from his lips.

When he comes back down, Cas is holding him up, fingers grasping his biceps. Their positions are mirrored.

 Dean raises his head and their gazes meet. He can’t figure out what it is he’s seeing there – Cas’s pupils are still blown wide, but they no longer look frightened or apologetic. They’re _curious._

Sam’s mild noise of disgust makes him look away.

“Oh, man, that’s just _gross._ Couldn’t you have waited until I was outside?”

The heat that spreads to Dean’s face is so fierce it feels like the flames from Hell are scorching his skin. He knocks Cas’s hands away with his own and squeezes himself out from between him and the wall, looking down at his soiled trousers. There certainly wasn’t any _visible_ evidence that he’d just come in them like a horny teen, but he could definitely _feel_ it.

“It was the siren, Sam. Don’t get any funny ideas,” he says, pointing behind him whilst continuing to eye up his crotch. He hears Castiel move behind him and flips around quickly, eyeing up the angel warily.

“Dean—“ Castiel begins. Dean holds up a hand.

“Save it. Just…” Dean turns, closing his eyes in exhaustion. He was sick of it, this game that Gabriel was playing. He wanted out. “Save it.”

There’s a heavy silence that stretches out between the three.

“Cas,” Sam says quietly, “We need to talk to your brother.”

-

It takes a while, but they’ve got it. Everything needed to forcefully summon an archangel laid out cleanly in Bobby’s scrapyard. Castiel tells them they can only summon Gabriel because he’s been on Earth for so long and that trying it with any other archangel would be suicide. Dean doesn’t need to be told twice.

He nods sternly at Sam, who throws the match he’s holding onto the sigil. It sets alight quickly, the flames licking at the dirty gravel. The embers collide and connect, forming the symbol completely, and then Sam says the archangels name.

There’s a harsh, erratic flutter of wings and then the archangel is in front of them, bowed over on the floor, the flames on the inside of the sigil extinguished.Castiel is eyeing him up with awed caution, whereas Sam and Dean are leaning forwards because _he looks familiar…_

His head snaps up and they jerk back.

“No frickin’ way,” Dean mutters in disbelief. It’s the Trickster in front of them, playful smirk spreading over his lips. The guy rises to his feet, brushing off his knees.

“You know, being yanked away from the beginning of what was going to be a fantastic orgy by a couple of yahoo’s like you really is a buzzkill,” the Trickster widens his arms, “Sam, Dean,” he drags out their names, “nice to see you again!”

Sam’s jaw is clenched and so is Dean’s. They glare at the archangel furiously for a few minutes and Dean _knows_ that he’s waiting for them to say something. ‘Gabriel’ caves first.

“Oh, fine. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was an angel. Would it soothe your tiny little brains if I said that I _invented_ the Trickster?So technically, I haven’t lied to you at all,” he smiles brightly at them. They’re still glaring at him with a mixture of disgust and betrayal.

“Gabriel,” Castiel says when it’s clear neither Sam nor Dean is going to speak, “we would appreciate it if you stopped meddling with Dean and me.”Gabriel turns to him like he’s only just realised his presence, feigning innocence.

“Meddling? Me? You’ve got the wrong guy, bro.”

“Clam it, asshat, we know it’s you,” Dean’s found his voice again and it’s low and hostile. He steps forwards, “You just love messing with people’s lives, don’t you?”

Gabriel’s naïve expression contorts into one of mischief.

“How could I resist, Deano? I checked up on my little bro here after hearing he’d rebelled against Heaven and wow, was I surprised,” he smiles at Castiel, “he’d thrown it all away for whimpering, pathetic Dean Winchester.”

Dean keeps his firm, deadly gaze on Gabriel, pushing back the urge to monitor Castiel’s reaction. Gabriel shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I figured there had to be some kind of ridiculous reason he’d do that. Castiel’s one of the more sensible angels, see. And well, my clever little mind came up with the obvious solution,” he spread his arms, “he’s in love with you. You’re in love with him.”

Sam coughs beside him, covering up a bark of laughter, and Dean feels like he’s been pushed backwards, even though his feet are still firmly on the ground. _Cas, in love with him? Right._ __

“You are one disturbed asshole, you know that?” Dean replies. Gabriel half-shrugs.

“If by ‘disturbed’ you mean ‘has eyes’, sure. You two have been barking up each other’s’ tree since Cassie here made his grand entrance. I’m just playing as the ladder.”

“Well _stop,”_ Castiel cuts in, “This isn’t a game, Gabriel.”

There’s a moment of hopeful silence, where Gabriel falls into deep thought. Dean can see when he makes his final decision and his gut twists.

“Sorry, bucko’s, this is one ride I’m not ever getting off of. You two are the most fun I’ve had in ages,” he waggles his eyebrows, “Time to step up and play your roles, boys.”

And then he’s gone.

Sam moves forward in alarm.

“He… How did he…”

There’s an object leaning across the edge of the sigil. A condom wrapper. Dean lets out a livid snarl and turns around, kicking the dirt.

“Son of a bitch,” he growls. How long was it going to last? What else was he going to make them do? Hell, he just hoped Gabriel knew when to not cross the line, because he was _not_ going to deflower an angel.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam coaxes, “Acting like this is just gonna make it more entertaining for the sick bastard. Play it cool.”

Dean closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. _Sam’s right. I’ve just got to keep my game face on._

With a quick ruffle of his shoulders, he’s resumed his natural stance, neutral expression on his face. He turns and heads towards Cas, slapping him on the shoulder supportively.

“Let’s give your dick of a brother one lame ass show.”

-

“Hey,” Sam says suddenly later that evening, looking up from the book that’s open in front of him, “The siren… why did he set you and Cas on each other?”

Dean cringes from his seat on the sofa, giving his brother his I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-this face. He didn’t even want to know what Sam must have been thinking to have that question suddenly spawn in his mind. With a forced shrug, Dean looks back at the television.

“Said something about me being ‘immune to his charms’,” Dean smirked lightly, “Told you; I’m straighter than the stick that’s shoved up Cas’s ass.”

There’s a gentle noise of amusement expelled from the table and Dean turns his head to look at his brother in confusion.

“What?”

“Come here,” Sam gestures with his hand, enticing him over with a wide smile caked over his face. Dean hauls himself off the sofa, both curious about what was so _hilarious_ and irritated that the joke seemed to be on him. He grips the back of Sam’s chair and leans over his shoulder, looking down at the book that Sam taps with his index finger.

“ _’There have been accounts in the past of sailors who have heard the sirens song in their heads, but haven’t fallen under their spell’”_ Sam reads out, finger trailing along the sentence. When he hesitates, Dean encourages him to continue with a nod. Sam sniffs, attempting to regain the composure that he’s slowly losing.  “’ _One man who had followed his male lover to the siren was told by the creature that he was unable to fall under his spell, since he had already been claimed by his soulmate. These types of people are usually the more submissive half of the soul connection’—“_ Sam cuts himself off when he quickly glances at Dean, laughter finally spilling free from his lips. He slaps the table with his hand as he laughs, pointing at Dean.

“You should see your face, man.”

“You think me and Cas are _soulmates?_ Are you frickin’ insane?” Dean leans forwards and yanks the book towards him, eyes scanning the text quickly. Yep, it’s there. Sam wasn’t making it up. Dean pulls a face.  “ _Submissive?_ No way.” He throws the book away from him and stalks out of the living room, pulling a glass out of the cupboard and filling it with water.

Sam’s still chuckling in the living room while Dean presses a hand into the counter to keep himself up, trying _very hard_ not to think about him underneath Castiel in a seemingly-not-platonic situation.

_Yeah right. I’d totally be the dom._

And then he empties his glass, sucks in a breath, and walks back into the living room to smack Sam around the back of the head.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**5 – Pucker Up**

“What do you mean you’ve lost your mojo?”

“It’s being suppressed by another angels Grace,” Castiel’s eyes are lowered and they darken, glaring at the carpet. Dean curses under his breath and sits on the edge of his bed.

“Great. Cases are gonna be harder now you’re limp,” Dean gestures to Castiel’s entire body and Castiel lifts his dark gaze to stare at Dean in confusion. Sam steps in.

“Should we call him down again? Maybe we could talk him into giving you some of your powers back—“

“I wouldn’t advise it. Forcefully calling an archangel to you once is dangerous – doing it twice is foolish,” Castiel says impatiently, seating himself stiffly into a nearby chair. “I will just have to wait.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Sam and Dean share glances before looking back at Castiel’s straight posture, distant gaze and blank expression.

“You’re just gonna sit there?” Dean asks slowly. Castiel nods. Dean slaps his knee and stands up quickly.

“No way. You’re all out of angel juice,” he points a finger at Cas, “We’re taking you to the bar.”

Castiel frowns in disapproval, but Dean’s already pulling him out of his seat by his sleeve. Sam stops him.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Dean? You know what Gabriel’s doing—“

“—Yeah, and he can shove his little game up his shiny angelic ass. We’re going for a drink.” Dean shrugs off the hand that Sam’s settled on his shoulder and keeps walking, grabbing his jacket from the back of the table as he passes. Castiel stumbles along behind him, turning his head around to look at Sam with pleading eyes. Sam sends him a look that says ‘sorry man, this is out of my hands’.

So the three end up strolling along the sidewalk towards the nearest bar, the moon bold and bright above them. When they reach the door of the bar, Dean looks around warily. There’s nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that seems to want to push him and Cas together, so Dean smiles to himself and opens the door, breathing in the smell of musky alcohol and men. Typical bar smell.

It’s then Dean realises he’s still got Castiel’s sleeve trapped between his thumb and index finger. He drops it hurriedly and clears his throat.

“Go find a seat, huggy bear.” Dean slaps Cas on the shoulder and heads to the bar, smiling politely at the barman. He holds up three fingers and skims the bar for women while the drinks are prepared.

 _Not bad,_ Dean thinks to himself, looking up a particularly spectacular red-head in a tight black dress.

“Here,” the barman says gruffly, shoving three glasses of beer across the counter towards Dean. Dean nods in thanks, throws over the money and then heads over to the small booth that Sam and Castiel have claimed. Sam looks laid back and relaxed, fingers tapping the table to the beat of the droning country music that’s coming from a vintage jukebox in the corner. But Castiel looks uneasy, his discomfort showing through the hard edge of his rigid shoulders. With a sigh, Dean plonks the drinks onto the table. He pushes a beer towards Cas.

“Drink up.”

The angel looks between the beer, Dean, and the people surrounding him, then stretches forwards and brings the glass to his lips. Dean begins to smile and Sam frowns lightly in displeasure – _probably doesn’t like that I’m corrupting an angel._

The smile that’s spread across Dean’s lips begins to falter when Cas doesn’t stop drinking; he’s still glugging, chugging it back like a thirsty kid. Sam and Dean watch with open mouths as Castiel plonks the empty glass back onto the table, foam moustache decorating the top of his lip.

His eyes have drooped a little and he sends them both a weak smile, the foam stretching out along the base of his nose. Dean bites back a smirk.

“You’ve got—“ he gestures to his own lips to indicate where the foam is, but Castiel just blinks up at him in confusion. Dean rolls his eyes and leans forwards, brushing the pad of his thumb against Cas’s foamy upper lip. He wipes it on the collar of the trenchcoat afterwards.

A scantily-dressed, blonde waitress walks past. Dean taps her on the shoulder.

“Hey, can we get another beer over here?” He looks at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, examining the new twinkle that shone through his gaze, “Maybe a few,” he hesitates, “a _lot_ of vodka shots?”

She nods and smiles, heading away.

“Vodka shots? You’re gonna give him vodka shots?” Sam asks in disbelief. Dean smirks and shrugs, sliding in beside Castiel. The angel’s arm presses against his warmly.

“He’s a lightweight. Look at him, he’s like a kid on happy juice and he’s only had a beer,” Dean grins and knocks Cas with his elbow. Castiel swerves his head around and smiles lightly at Dean.

“I like alcohol,” he says quietly, like he’s scared the other angels would hear him. There’s a rebellious glint in his eyes though, and it makes Dean grin wider.  The waitress is back, and she plonks down ten vodka shots and another glass of beer.

Dean pushes all of the shots towards Castiel.

“Go on, show us what you got.”

So Castiel downs all of them, one after the other, not even bothering to pause for breath. When he plonks the last shot down onto the table, it tumbles over, but he pays it no attention. He’s eyeing Dean up, awaiting approval.

“Dude,” Dean says, clapping a hand onto Castiel’s shoulder, “You’re _awesome.”_

Castiel grins. Oh man, he was almost totally gone. And they’d been in the bar for, what, fifteen minutes?

“You probably should have told him that we don’t always drink alcohol to get drunk,” Sam says, though he’s watching with amusement as Cas stretches out an arm and knocks over the pack of menus on their table. Dean’s smiling so wide, he feels like his face is going to crack.

“Oh, this is grand,” He straightens up suddenly and hits the table with his hand before hurriedly sliding out of the booth. “Cas, come here.”

Castiel’s head swings around loosely and he settles his uneven gaze on Dean. Then he _crawls_ out of the booth and onto his feet, clutching onto Dean’s side as he straightens up. Dean holds back a snigger and stretches out a finger to point at the red-head he’d been checking out at the bar.

“See that chick? She wants to be your friend. Go get her,” he pushes Cas forwards and slaps him on the ass. And oh God, _he actually walks towards her._ When the angel reaches her side, the woman looks up at him in alarm and Dean doubles over with laughter, the confusion on her face utterly _priceless._

Sam’s pushed himself up to peer over the edge of the booth seat and lets out a gentle laugh. Castiel’s standing stiffly in front of her and Dean wishes _so badly_ he could hear what he’s saying.

He doesn’t expect what happens next. The woman’s confusion bleeds into appreciation and she slides off of her bar stool, eyeing Castiel up admiringly.

“Hey, I think she’s actually into him,” Sam says with genuine disbelief, looking over at Dean, whose amusement has evaporated. He’s left feeling cold and mildly put out.

The feeling doesn’t last long, though, because a _huge_ guy is heading towards Castiel, rage etched into his features. Dean pushes his way through the small crowd and the moment he reaches Cas’s side, he grips his bicep.

“Time to go—“

“Oh no, you’re not goin’ anywhere, pretty boy.”

Dean freezes and turns, gulping as he takes in the man who’s twice his size, both in height and width. The red-headed woman looks mildly pissed, but not surprised. Dean’s familiar with the expression. It’s the expression of a woman whose boyfriend is protecting her… _again._

“Hey, no trouble. He’s just had a little too much to drink.” Dean spreads his hands. The guy doesn’t look convinced and steps forwards again, sneer hidden behind a bushy beard.

“You think shovin’ this guy onto my bitch is gonna get rid of those gay feelin’s, huh, boy?”

It takes Dean a moment to catch up with what it is Mr. Gigantor had said, but when he does, he laughs uneasily.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Since you got ‘ere, I’ve been watchin’ you grope’ this poor guy and shove your gay in his face. If you’d just tell him, you’d be gayin’ it up already instead of flirtin’ with my woman,” the guy growls, though whether he’s pissed at the supposed ‘homosexual feelings’ Dean has, or the fact that he’s been sharing the gay, Dean doesn’t know. “I ain’t lettin’ you leave until you kiss your friend ‘ere so somin’ like this don’t happen again.

And that’s when it hits Dean. _Protective boyfriend, calling Dean gay, out-of-this-world attractive woman, forced kissing?_

It was fucking Gabriel.

“Your brother is a massive dick,” Dean says to Cas, who’s too busy trying to remain standing to take any notice of him. Dean chances a glance at the man in front of him, who, oh, has now apparently got buddies. He looks over to Sam, but his brother is busy talking to a nice, mousy looking woman who’s sidled into the booth opposite him.

Was it worth the risk? Would Gabriel really let him get beat to a pulp by three ogres?

 _Man up, Dean._ Dean straightens his shoulders and then raises his other hand to grip Castiel’s other bicep. He wasn’t going to let Gabriel get to him. The douche wanted a show and Dean wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of it – he needed to play it cool, pretend that _everything was okay._

So he turns himself and Cas so they’re facing each other and then sucks in a breath.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel slurs, smiling giddily. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Dean has to bite back a smile. There’s three big bozo’s waiting for a big makeout session to happen between him and the angel and Dean’s not willing to disappoint.

After all, only the straightest men could do something gay and not doubt their sexuality.

“Sorry about this, Cas, but I don’t feel like being bar meat tonight,” Dean cups Castiel’s face with his hands and swoops forwards quickly, pecking him on the lips softly. He’s hoping that’s enough, but the three guys huddle closer.

“We want a show, ya fairy. Ain’t makin’ you do this for nothin’”

And another wave of realisation spreads through Dean. _They’re getting off this—_

He stops his train of thought as quickly as possible, refusing to let himself think about it any further. _It’s just Gabriel, don’t react, Dean, be cool._

So he lunges forwards again, squeamishness be damned, and presses his lips to Castiel’s. Cas swerves backwards a little from the force and the two remain suspended, lips just smoothed out together.

Until Cas opens his mouth a little, parts his gently over Dean’s and _oh, that doesn’t feel so bad actually._ Dean traps Cas’s bottom lip between his own, sucking it into his mouth and nibbling lightly over the soft skin. There’s a light vibration that Cas emits through his mouth and his hands find the crooks of Dean’s elbows, pulling him closer, pulling the sensations closer. Dean’s fingers tighten over Cas’s cheekbones.

He’s not thinking. He’s just _feeling_. It’s lips on lips, that’s all. His eyes are screwed shut and they close even tighter when Cas pulls his bottom lip free and _sucks Dean’s into his mouth._ There’s teeth and a little tongue and Dean would be damned to say it didn’t make him a little hot under the collar.

It’s that thought that makes him jerk free, pulling his hands back, letting Cas’s fall back to his side. The angel is flushed, swaying, eyes still closed, mouth still open. _Fuck._

“Good boy.”

The voice makes Dean snap his head towards Ogre Number 1, who’s now _Gabriel._

“You bastard.” Dean lunges forwards, but the angel’s already gone, along with the other two men and the red-head.  Dean glances around the rest of the bar, but everyone’s still going about their activities, like   _three fucking giants hadn’t just disappeared into thin air._

“That was nice,” Dean hears Castiel say quietly behind him. Dean turns around slowly, irritation and disbelief mingling on his face. But Cas is no longer standing. He’s lying face down on the floor, arms spread out wide.

“Peachy,” Dean mutters to himself. He bends down and picks Cas up, slinging one of his limp arms around his shoulders. He staggers over to Sam, who’s no longer talking to the mousy woman. Maybe she was an illusion too.

“Sammy, time to leave.”

Sam looks up and his expression quickly changes from boredom to realisation.

“Gabriel?”

Dean grits his teeth and turns away, waiting for Sam to grasp Cas’s other arm.

“Don’t ask.”

-

**6 – Seeing double**

They don’t talk about it.

They’ve all reached this mutual understanding that any situations relating to Gabriel aren’t mentioned. Castiel doesn’t seem to remember the kiss, and if he did, he made sure not to mention it, or give any indications that he had ‘thought it was nice’.

Those three words were what disturbed Dean the most. Cas had _liked_ it, and Dean tried to reason himself into believing that it was because this was an angel who’d never experienced it before – and he’d been _drunk_ too. It didn’t make it any less off-putting. Whenever Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel’s face, he was instantly provided with an image of his grin and _‘that was nice’_ ringing in his ears.

Dean rubs a hand against his forehead, his thoughts suffocating the sound of Sam and Cas’s voices.

Of course, Dean didn’t think anything of it for the first week. He was obviously just a little freaked over the fact that his best friend – who was also a _male_ and an _angel –_ had enjoyed kissing him. It was when it had begun to play in his mind with vividness akin to reality - slowed down, reversed, sped up – that he realised he was living it all over again.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean pushes himself to his feet and shutting his eyes as it happens again, the sensations of Cas’s teeth and tongue ghosting along his bottom lip, like they were _there._

“Dean?” Sam’s on his feet too, resting a worried hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Sam, I’m just—“ He cuts himself off as a flush runs up the back of his neck and his eyes fly open in shock because _Cas had_ not _put his hands there._ “It’s that douchebag. He’s…” Dean closes his eyes again and swallows, resting a hand against the table next to him. It’s like he’s seeing two things at once – there’s Sam in front of him and Cas not far behind, and then there’s this translucent image of Cas back at the bar, his hands and lips doing _sinful_ things. He screws his eyes shut tighter when the hands in question cup his crotch, the heel of a palm grinding _hard_ into it.

“What?” Sam asks, his frustration growing. Dean slams the hand that’s propping him up back onto the desk in anger.

“He’s mind-whammied me. There’s some freaky ass ghost-Cas groping me up!”

There’s a stunned silence and Sam’s hand swiftly drops from his shoulder. He turns away, and Dean can tell by the light tremble of his shoulders that’s _giggling._

“Oh, that’s right, laugh it up, Sammy.” Castiel seems concerned and begins to move forwards, but Dean holds up a hand, glaring at Sam when he starts to snort with laughter. “Don’t. I can only deal with one of you at a ti—“ he cuts himself off when the ghost hands and lips return, hands palming his ass and lips sucking his neck. He closes his eyes again and attempts to regain his composure, ignoring his body’s spiking reaction to the fondling.

Castiel shuffles uncomfortably from where he’s standing in the doorway and that’s when Dean realises there’s a very-light sprinkling of pink dusted over his cheeks.

“Oh, man, he’s got you too,” Dean says in realisation. Castiel clears his throat uncomfortably and straightens.

“It would seem so.”

Sam’s laughter abruptly stops, because suddenly the situation is so much more awkward then before. There’s three men in a room, two of which are being groped by the other in ghost form. Sam’s the third wheel.

“I’m just gonna…” He gestures into the general direction of the door and then leaves, grabbing his coat and the Impala’s keys on his way out. When the door clicks shut, Dean stares hard at the floor and _not_ Cas, whose breathing is loud and erratic, Dean can hear him from where he’s standing. He bites his tongue to stop himself letting out a moan when the ghost’s hands brush over his nipples.

“This is so wrong,” Dean says hoarsely into the growing silence. It’s wrong, because it’s just him and Cas, alone, in the motel room, with ghost versions of each other doing dirty, dirty things. Castiel is slowly losing the composure he had built up so well, lips thick and parted, breath gasping in heavy air.

“I’ve never had anyone touch me this way before,” the angel whispers and Dean fights hard against the strip of desire that springs to his groin at the sound of it, “It’s… overwhelming.”

“Yeah, well, be thankful you’re getting it now. There is _no_ way the real me would do something like… whatever it is he’s doing.”

“His lips appear to be—“

“—Dude, _no,_ don’t frickin’ tell me.” Dean groans with disgust, but it soon turns into one of need. There’s the kiss again, so _real_ against his lips, but it’s more teasing this time, teasing because Dean’s aroused now. He can’t fight off his body’s reaction and it’s burning up and he’s – _damn it –_ turned on.

He grits his teeth and throws back his head when the ghost Cas grinds his hips against his aching groin, over and over and over. Castiel is watching him so _intensely_ from the other side of the living room, sweat trickling down his brow, gasping in oxygen hungrily. Dean opens his eyes a fraction, meeting Cas’s gaze, while the ghost of him thrusts harder and harder and if he doesn’t stop soon, he’s going to come in his jeans again, while Cas is _watching._

But then the feeling’s gone. Everything. The ghost of Cas has evaporated and Dean slumps forwards, the orgasm-that-wasn’t sinking back into his body, groin still aching, breathless. Castiel is leaning over too, eyes closed, hair ruffled somehow, mouth open. Dean glances at it briefly before meeting Cas’s now-open gaze.

“This is fun,” he quips sarcastically, stretching up and wiping a hand along his sweaty forehead. Castiel looks very much like he wants to fly away, but what with his angel mojo being on standby, he’s stuck with the awkward aftermath. After a quick inspection, Dean realises that yep, this just got more awkward. Because Cas’s trousers are tented, and his half-hard erection is pressing into the zipper of his jeans, so they’re both aroused and alone in the room.

 _Gabe’s left us out to dry, the son of a bitch,_ Dean thinks, turning around to hide his flush. He thinks of everything: Sam naked, Bobby naked, Gabriel naked. Oh, that does it quite nicely. His erection slowly droops and his jeans are comfortable again. It doesn’t chase away the tinkling of lust that’s still decorating his veins, but he can live with it.

When he turns around, Cas is leaning forwards and _fuck no,_ his hand is rubbing himself through his trousers.

“Cas!” He exclaims in outrage. Cas bites his lip and halts his movements, blown pupils rising to meet Dean’s.

“How do I stop this?” He says huskily and sighs _casually,_ like Dean hadn’t just caught him trying to jack himself off through his trousers. Dean tears his eyes away from the bulging crotch and clears his throat.

“I’m not teaching you the birds and the bees, Cas. Just… think of something that creeps you out,” Dean’s lips quirk a little, “Like your angel buddies naked.”

“The naked body of a human isn’t displeasing to an angel, Dean. That doesn’t help,” Cas rushes to get his words in and when Dean looks at him again to see _why_ , he sees that his hand has returned to its previous activity. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Right. You stay here and discover masturbation; I’m gonna find Sam.” Dean screws his eyes shut to maintain his innocence and walks as fast as he can towards the direction of the exit.

And that’s when the rug returns with a vengeance.

He trips and as he’s falling forwards, he already knows his destination. His hands find Cas’s chest and they both fall against the doorframe, Dean letting out a groan of pain as his head collides with the sharp edge and Cas letting out a different groan entirely.

Dean lifts his head, now sporting a small lump, and freezes when Cas’s hips jut upwards into his, ever-so-slightly. He looks at the angel, who’s debauched and totally losing control, eyes wide with confusion, as they had been before. He’s never seen this before, this look of utter loss. Not just on Cas, but on anybody. Was sex that terrifying? Was it that confusing? He wasn’t thinking about initiating sex, of course, but the fact that the angel looked so lost, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to push Dean against a wall and fuck his brains out or push him away in horror. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Dean was facing the same dilemma, the lust that was making his whole body tingle accumulating in one particular area.

“Dean,” The name is almost inaudible on his lips, and it’s what jerks Dean back to reality. He pulls away, the warmth that had emanated onto his chest from Cas’s sifting away.

“Gonna find Sam,” Dean mutters, before leaving the motel room in what definitely wasn’t an embarrassed fluster.

When he gets outside, he sucks in the fresh air and then stares appreciatively at a slender woman’s legs as she walks past. He lets out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

 _Still straight, Winchester. Still straight._ __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I mentioned this in the chapter, but the reason Gabriel can suppress Castiel's grace is because he was the head of his garrison. That was why the angels could never fully humanize Cas - because he wasn't part of their garrison, and only an archangel had the power to do so. Anna worked underneath Gabe and became the leader when Gabriel disappeared. This is my headcanon, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**7 –Theatrics**

The time frame between Gabriel’s attacks seems to be fluid, because he strikes again _just the next day._

Sam had been listening in on the local police radio, and a call was made in from a motel, with claims that a person had spotted a man the police were hunting for -- a man that Dean and Sam knew to be possessed. So they’d dropped everything to check it out. Sam had headed round to the front of the motel to question the witness, leaving Dean and Cas to clamber in through an open window.

But the moment they’d set foot inside the empty, musty-smelling motel room, heavy steps clumped past the door, guns clacking and flashlight moving in thick beams through the crack beneath it. The police were still evacuating the building.

Dean turns, grabbing Cas’s sleeve in urgency, but the window slams shut, blowing out the curtains. Dean blinks, and then Gabriel is in front of them.

He’s pushed Dean to the wall with an immovable force before Dean’s fist can connect with his face, Castiel beside him.

“Come on now, that’s no way to say hi,” Gabriel smirks and waves a hand through the air. Dean’s throat constricts, leaving him unable to speak. Gabriel claps his hands together. “Here’s the situation. Those cops out there are ruthless little suckers and if they see you and Cassie still here, they’re gonna arrest you and take you downtown for obstructing the work of an officer.” Gabriel’s eyebrows rise, “Now Deano, you’re already deep in it, so we can’t have you locked up again. Want to take a crack at guessing the solution?”

Dean’s glaring at Gabriel with as much force as he can muster, and Castiel’s not doing so bad himself, bright blue eyes open and angry. Gabriel opens his arms.

“Come on!” he drags the words out, “you can’t guess?” He leans forwards and looks around, like he’s scared someone will overhear him whisper to them; “Cops won’t wanna disturb you while you’re doing the dirty.” Gabriel’s lunged forwards and punched Dean in the stomach before he even has time tosuck in a breath and he can’t hold in his loud groan of pain. The footsteps outside the door stop, Dean slumps forwards off of the wall, and then Gabriel is right in his face, grinning like a sadistic bastard.

“Play nice, boys,” He disappears in a rustle of feathers and then Cas and Dean are alone. Dean presses a finger to his own lips – a signal for Cas to keep quiet - still bent double with an arm wrapped around his stomach. The sudden silence doesn’t seem to matter, though, because after a few seconds, there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey, we’ve evacuated the building. Why aren’t you outside?” A gruff, authoritative voice barks. Dean’s eye blow wider, and Castiel stares back with equal fear.

“Groan,” Dean orders in a hushed whisper. Cas just wrinkles his brow in confusion. Rolling his eyes, Dean lets out a low groan. He wants to kill Gabriel for putting them in yet another awkward situation, but he’s too glad that this particular ‘scene’ doesn’t require him to actually be near Cas.

Castiel seems to catch on, because he lets out a choked moan of his own. Dean blanches at the stiffness of the noise, but the cops outside seem to be buying it.

“There’s two guys in here,” one of them says, in what sounds like disgust. “Sounds like they’re…”

Dean clears his throat and grunts, nodding at Castiel, who mimics the sound, smoother than before. The deep rumble of it slicks the air with a heat that wraps itself in Dean, and he watches with an interest he denies having as Castiel closes his eyes and lets out a softer moan.

“Rougher,” the word slips from Dean’s mouth before he can hold it in and he squirms under the sudden inquisitive gaze Castiel throws him, “We’re supposed to be in the middle of it, not building up. Come on, give a little more effort.”

Castiel closes his eyes again and lets out a growl that’s so urgent and desperate, the air around Dean’s groin seems to clench. His lips are dry, so he darts his tongue out to dampen them and then slams a hand hard into the wall. He screws his eyes shut and lets out a hearty growl himself, adding loud breathing for more effect. The cops are quiet on the other side, voices low in discussion.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Castiel watching him deeply with exposed, enlarged eyes, mouth parted.

An agonising minute draws by slowly and then Dean breaks away, slamming his palm into the wall again, releasing the filthiest groan he can muster. Cas follows with his own, and an alien feeling of restrained lust shoots to Dean’s groin, _damnit,_ because Cas’s head is tilted back, hot flush sprinkled over pale skin and eyes scrunched tight in what looks like genuine pleasure.

He parts them and looks at Dean along his cheeks, mouth open, a challenge weighing down the darkened blue of his pupils.

Castiel is _trying_ to turn him on, the sneaky son of a bitch.

The police move away from the door, crisis evidently over, and Cas lowers his head, eyes never leaving Dean’s. With no time to ponder on his new discovery, Dean looks away and grabs the doorknob.

He leaves the room stealthily, Cas following closely behind him.

-

**8 – You’re Like Poison**

When Dean wakes up one morning, a week later, he can’t move.

“Sam,” he says urgently, voice crackling with tiredness. Sam rolls over on the bed a few feet away from Dean’s, groaning in his sleep. Dean looks at Castiel, who’s sitting up in his chair, eyes closed. He’s in a deep meditation.

“Cas!” He yells loudly, jolting the angel out of his trance. When Cas looks over to Dean, irritation is bleeding through his stare.

“What?”

“I can’t move,” Dean snaps angrily, screwing his eyes shut in exertion as he attempts to move a leg. It flinches, but goes no further. “Get Sam.”

Castiel stands quickly from his seat, heading between their beds to shake Sam awake before turning to Dean. He grasps Dean’s arm.

“Can you feel that?”

“Of course I can feel that! The problem is moving it,” he grits his teeth, gaze moving to Sam, who’s clambered out of bed, hand sleepily scratching the back of his head.

“He can’t move?” He asks Cas, though the son of a bitch doesn’t even sound worried. Dean glares at him.

“Yeah Sammy, no big deal, I’m just _disabled,”_

“It’s probably Gabriel,” His brother responds nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder and rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. The bastard actually goes to the kitchen and makes a _coffee_.  

But, he’s proven right a few seconds later, when there’s an erratic rustling of what’s _definitely_ wings, and a phone drops onto Dean’s pillow. The exertion it takes for Dean to move his head to the side makes him sweat, and he runs a tongue along his top lip.

“What’s that?”

Castiel leans forwards and picks up the object, turning it around in his hand. Sam pads over inquisitively and takes it from him, light, curious frown disappearing as he snorts.

“What is it? Let me see,” Dean says irritably, trying to stretch out to grab the phone. But, _damn it,_ his arm won’t move.

“Oh man, you are not gonna like this,” Sam says, mouth twitching in badly concealed amusement. He turns the phone around so Dean can see what’s happening on the screen.

Dean narrows his eyes to focus easier and his mouth opens in surprise. It’s that glittery vampire douchebag teens all over America were dribbling over – Edmund? Edward? – and he’s hunched over a girl who’s convulsing on the floor. He’s sucking at her wrist with a constipated expression on his face.

“What the hell?” Dean exclaims with a surprising amount of force, considering he felt like he weighed a ton.

“It’s the end of ‘Twilight’,” Sam says with an unwavering certainty that just backs up Dean’s suspicions of him being a girl, “He’s sucking the venom out of her.”

Dean groans and rolls his head sideways, shutting his eyes and wishing the world would just _go away_. Because he knew where the phone had come from and – he turns his head to check and yep – he knew why there was a hefty chomp on his wrist. Sam stares at the bite for a few seconds before walking over to his bed and shoving on his jeans from the day before.

He just leaves, without a word to Dean. Figures he’d caught on before Dean could hide the bite, because now Dean had no cover-up story and he’d have to put up with the poking remarks about Cas being the Edward to his Beth, or whatever the hell her name was.

“Come on, Cas, time to do your mojo,” he pushes his head back into the pillow and closes his eyes, waiting. Nothing happens. Dean cracks an eye open and glares at the confused angel. “You saw the video, move your ass and get on with it.”

With a reluctance Dean’s almost offended by, Castiel moves closer and sits on the bed beside Dean’s waist, his warmth leaking through the blankets. Dean finds himself watching with low-lidded eyes as Cas leans forwards slowly, hot hands grasping Dean’s arm to keep it sturdy. He’s moving _so fucking slow_ and Dean just wants the whole thing to be over as quickly as possible. When Castiel’s lips are just a _brush_ away from the wound, his eyes flicker upwards to meet Dean’s heady gaze, and Dean realises he’s been breathing heavily in anticipation.

He holds his breath when Cas completes the distance and settles his open mouth along the bite. Dean watches, transfixed, for a brief moment as Castiel just stays there, lips pressed to his wrist. And then he _sucks_ and then Dean lets out the breath he’s been holding, chest heaving.

He’s had a few hickeys in the past, but this felt like _the ultimate hickey._ Cas’s blown lips over his wrist, hollowed cheeks and hot pressure – it was making him completely breathless. Slowly, the feeling in his left arm comes back, fingers tingling pleasantly. He closes his eyes and pushes his head back into the pillow as far as it can go, letting the pleasurable mixture of satiated exhaustion and mingling heat spread from his right arm.

He only opens his eyes again when he notices that Cas has stopped. And that’s when he sees that his now-mobile left hand has twirled itself through Castiel’s short hair, pushing him closer to the bite. His eyes widen a fraction and he goes to pull it away, when he’s overwhelmed with a ruthless _need._

“Don’t stop, Cas,” he pleads, digging his fingertips into the angel’s scalp. Cas’s dark eyes leave his and he’s bending down again, pressing his mouth to the sensitive skin on Dean’s wrist. Dean lets out a thankful sigh and closes his eyes again, inhaling like he’d never breathed before.

When the feeling finally returns to his legs and left arm, he can’t quite bring himself to tell Castiel to stop. The bite has healed over, and Cas is still lightly sucking, teeth nipping at the skin. Dean’s hand falls from the back of Cas’s head, which makes the angel look up, darkened eyes watching him intently.

There’s a brief moment where they just _look._ There’s an inkling of lust there, Dean knows it. He’s seen that restrained look of interest in girls who play hard to get. Cas probably doesn’t know that he’s staring at Dean like he wants to strip the clothes off of his back, but surprisingly, the look doesn’t freak him out.

It looks good on Cas, Dean decides - this desire that’s either a sexual attraction to Dean, or just sexual desire in general. The angel was probably horny as hell; it wasn’t a surprise that he’d developed a little thing for Dean, considering the situations they’d been put in.

Dean really didn’t want to venture into the part of his mind that said _he’d developed a little thing for Cas too._

His phone rings. It’s Sam.

The moment is over.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**9 – Profound Bond**

Sam’s been giving Dean these cautious glances over the past week, like he’s waiting for him to suddenly start talking about twirling his own eyelashes or whatever it was that gay people did. Dean tries his best to act like he hasn’t realised, but he finally decides to call Sam out on it when they stop for lunch in a busy city diner.

They’re busy arguing, Castiel watching them with exasperation, when Dean feels something tug at his right wrist. Cas seems to have felt something too, because he looks down between the two of them. Sam only notices something’s up when Dean stops mid-sentence to look at the diner seat.

“What?” Sam asks. Dean’s teeth are grinding against each other, because Gabriel _did not go there._

Instead of replying, he hauls his wrist up onto the table, dragging Castiel’s with it. _Handcuffs._

“Are those…”

“Handcuffs,” Dean smiles humourlessly, attempting to calm the hot anger that’s searing through his head. He wasn’t going to react; he didn’t want to give Gabriel the satisfaction.

“Handcuffs, isn’t that a little…” Sam trails off, snorting softly, “He really can’t come up with anything better than that?”

Dean glares at him.

“He’ll take that as a challenge. Don’t.”

Dean wasn’t going to lie – handcuffs were an inconvenience. But what difference did they make, really? Castiel was always plastered to his side, it just so happened that now he had a reason to be. So they eat the rest of their meal calmly.

When they get up to leave, it’s _then_ it becomes apparent just how short the distance is between the cuffs. The skin on the back of Dean’s hand constantly brushes against Castiel’s, and that’s when he’s straining his wrist to keep his hand as far away as possible. With a roll of his eyes, he relaxes it and just wraps it around Cas’s.

“Don’t,” he says both to Cas and Sam, who stare at him in bemusement. They get a few glances from the burly men who are hunched over the bar drinking manly drinks of manliness, but Dean doesn’t give a crap. The feeling of Castiel’s warm palm against his own seems to soothe the negative feelings he would have felt and for once, he’s grateful.

Perhaps Dean wouldn’t have been so lax with the idea of the cuffs if he had known where it would lead them.

Later that evening, Sam, Dean and Castiel are running down an alleyway as fast as they can, werewolf hot on their trails. Their guns, loaded with silver bullets, had been crunched to dust beneath the woman’s foot, so they’d had no choice but to run.

“We’ll split up.” Sam huffs, before launching himself down a different alleyway. Tightening his hold on Castiel’s hand, Dean keeps running, his lungs screaming for some rest, but his feet refusing to comply. The barely-human snarling behind them clearly meant that the woman still held a grudge against Dean for trying to shoot her earlier. _At least Sam’s safe._

He pulls Cas down another alleyway and something catches his eye. It’s a door, and it’s _materialising_. Dean knows who’s responsible for this magical door, but in that moment, he’d have taken any way out, just as long as he could stop and _breathe_ for a few seconds. He throws himself and Castiel towards it, pulls open the door and _god damn it,_ there’s barely enough room for one person, let alone two.

“Dean—“

“Just go in,” Dean interrupts, heaving in a large helping of oxygen before following Castiel through. He shuts it just in time, and the woman runs into it on the other side.

It’s quiet, and the woman’s snarling and scratching the wood on the flip side of the door. Dean’s back is pressed firmly to the wall behind him, but his front still manages to press against Castiel’s. They’re both trying to catch their breath, but the lack of space means they can only inhale sharply and in turn, or their chests constrict against each other. Dean closes his eyes, because there’s sweat trickling down his brow and the tiny space is completely satiated in the smell of _Castiel._ Their noses are almost touching, breath blowing over each other’s lips, and it’s weirdly erotic, just listening to Castiel breathing heavily without having caused it.

_Classic hide-in-a-closet cliché again? Sam pushed his buttons, stupid son of a bitch._

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is quiet and husky, and Dean wants to look him in the eyes, but he’s subconsciously leant forwards so his nose is pressing against the side of Castiel’s. He panics and tries to move away, but he can’t; he’s feeling this pull, this tug, this fucking unwanted desire to close the space. The air is humid and Castiel is hot too, the sweat near his upper lip making the breath Dean’s trying to inhale have a salty tang.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, top lip touching Castiel’s just a little. His thumb is twirling around the back of Castiel’s hand and Castiel is breathing in shakily.

The woman is still snarling on the other side of the door, but the noise is cancelled out. Castiel has started to move his nose against Dean’s, mouth open, dancing over Dean’s teasingly. They’re breathing into each other, tasting each other without even needing contact.

Dean’s hot, _God,_ he’s pulsing with this need he can’t decipher, that he doesn’t want to decipher. Because he’s straight, damn it, he’s _straight._ Oh, but he’s curious too. He wants to know – what would Castiel taste like, tongue on tongue? What would he feel like? Would it be different? _Would it be good different?_

When Castiel wraps a hand around Dean’s left wrist, completing the circuit, Dean has to hold himself back, because he _wants,_ fuck, he wants to stop this teasing, to stop tasting through air and start tasting through tongues. He wants teeth, and Castiel against the wall, and that smoky groan that he’d heard in that motel room, and those soft lips he’d felt at the bar, and all out _dirtiness._

“Damn it,” Dean says, low and deep.

“Dean, I don’t…” Castiel trails off, mouth – _come on, a little more, please –_ almost touching Dean’s, so close. So, so, so close—

Dean suddenly feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out, and then he and Castiel are back in their motel room, handcuffs off. They barely have time to regain their bearings before Sam’s burst through the door, new gun in hand. He looks between the two in confusion.

“Gabriel,” Dean says as his reason, and if he’s disappointed that Gabe hadn’t given them _just a little longer,_ he doesn’t show it.

-

**10 – Lemon or Grape?**

It’s not just Dean who’s staring.

Sam’s next to him, mouth open, eyes transfixed. Castiel’s leaning backwards against the kitchen counter at Bobby’s, lips encircling a crudely-shaped popsicle. They sink up and down the iced treat in a movement Dean can only describe as porn-worthy, and damn if it isn’t making him get warm in places he’d rather not think about.

“Cas,” Sam clears his throat when his voice comes out hoarsely. He’s not aroused by Castiel’s movements, more... shocked. Because Castiel has no idea what’s he’s doing to Dean and Dean is completely speechless, steely gaze pinned to the angel. Sam had only been messing with his brother when he’d teased him about Castiel – he’d known from the start that Dean was as straight as they come. But what was happening now was forcing him to rethink _everything._  “Cas, since when did you start....”

“I developed a craving last night,” Castiel peels his mouth free and wipes the back of his hand along his lips. Dean watches the movement with an unwavering obedience, eyes darkening when Castiel’s lips wrap themselves around the popsicle once again.

Sam turns sideways in his chair to watch as Bobby pads through from the living room and freezes in the doorway, examining the scene in front of him.

“Anyone on board in that noggin’ of his?” Bobby says in a low voice, nodding at Dean. Sam lets out a breathless huff of laughter.

“I dunno. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s pretty whipped.”

“Well, isn’t that a surprise,” Bobby says quietly, though the sarcasm is laced with genuine surprise. Dean audibly swallows as Castiel pushes the popsicle further into his throat, unaware of the conversation going on next to him.

“You think Gabe put a spell on him or something?” Sam asks, a little concerned about the perplexed mesmerisation on his brother’s face. The last time he’d seen him look like that, they’d been shooting fireworks into the sky.

“I dunno. Looks like one hundred percent Dean to me,” Bobby replies gruffly. He smacks Sam’s bicep with the back of his hand. “Come on, idgit, we’ll leave ‘em to it.”

Sam sneaks out of the kitchen alongside Bobby, looking once more at the expression on his brothers face. Sure, it was a little flushed and his pupils were blown wide – which he tried not to think about – but there was something else there. Not just heartless lust, like he’d seen before Dean got off with a woman. Something deeper.

Sam sent Dean a gentle smile before leaving through the front door with Bobby. He never thought he’d actually think it, but he hoped that when they got back, Dean and Castiel would be... satisfied.

-

Dean can’t deny it now. He could argue with himself, of course, with reasons like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘horny’, but when he tries to picture similar lips on a female body wrapped around his cock, it just doesn’t give him that… _kick._  Dean’s a curious person at heart; as a hunter, curiosity is something you need to overpower your fear.

And damn it, he just can’t stop _imagining_. He’s never been jealous of a popsicle, but he is, oh he _is._

Castiel’s tongue flattens out along the edge of it, capturing a yellow-tinged trickle of juice. _Lemon? Grape?_ Dean tries to dampen his throat for what could be the hundredth time and shuffles in his seat, shameful erection digging into his zipper. Does Cas even know? He’s just licking, eyes closed, enjoying it innocently. Dean’s hooked and can’t escape, _ugh,_ he wants. He _wants._

He’s on his feet and in front of Castiel before he even registers moving, and Castiel opens his eyes in confusion. A dribble of juice drips down his hand so he raises it to his mouth and sucks on the back of it, keeping Dean’s gaze locked on his.

“Cas,” Dean doesn’t bother to hide the huskiness, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Castiel stretches his tongue out and licks from the base to the tip of the popsicle, and it takes everything in Dean’s power not to smack the sticky treat out of the way and just _take._

“It seems Gabriel has something to do with it. Though what this craving has to do with his game is…” Castiel trails off when Dean picks up a popsicle from the counter behind him, leaning closer than necessary. He continues to watch with a puzzled expression as Dean takes off the wrapper and covers the ice with his lips.

Dean closes his eyes when the cold lolly’s flavour bursts across his tongue and sets about repeating the movements Castiel had taken – with Cas, it was better to show than to explain. When he opens his eyes again, Castiel is watching, mesmerised, at the popsicle being sucked through Dean’s lips.

“Oh,” he says simply, placing his half-eaten popsicle on the counter behind him. Dean leans forwards, placing his beside it, bending deliciously close to Castiel in the process. He can feel the angel’s hot breath on his cheek and he turns his head just a little, capturing Castiel’s lowered gaze with his own.

“Where’s this going, Cas?” He asks almost nervously. Because he’s thrumming with this unkempt desire to close the distance and kiss Castiel senseless. It’s scaring the shit out of him. He’s never been with a guy, and these hazardous feelings that are setting alight to his chest makes him want to lock himself in a closet and just figure it all out.

Was Gabriel playing the right game with them? Was this how he’d expected it to end? Was Dean just thinking of these things, because Gabriel had put the idea there?

“Wherever you want it to go, Dean,” Castiel replies distantly, eyes scouring every inch of Dean’s face, like he was counting the freckles.

 _Oh, fuck it._ __

Dean swoops forwards, hands flying up to cup Castiel’s face, and then he presses their lips together. It’s not gentle, it’s rough and needy, Dean plunging his tongue into Cas’s mouth and just _tasting._

 _Grape._ __

Castiel lets out what can only be described as a mewl and flattens his hands along the planes of Dean’s back, pulling him closer and tilting his head to the side, opening his mouth to give Dean more space.

Dean doesn’t know how long they stand there, making out like a couple of horny teenagers. His hands find the back of Castiel’s head and he twirls his fingers through the short hair, lips sliding over the stubble on Castiel’s jawline. It’s different, kissing a dude, but it’s _good different._

A groan slips out through his mouth when Castiel finds use of his tongue, stroking it against Dean’s in an almost sensual movement. It’s too much for Dean and he pulls away slowly, leaving Castiel leaning forwards, eyes still closed and mouth plump and parted.

“Well that was—“ Before he can finish  his sentence, he’s swung around and trapped against the kitchen counter by two arms either side of him. When he opens his mouth to ask _what the hell,_ Castiel leans forwards and swallows the words. They’re kissing again and _fuck, Cas is going completely to town on him._ It’s a little shoddy and inexperienced, but Dean’s too busy trying to keep up. His hands find Castiel’s hair again, and he digs his fingertips into the scalp. When Castiel moans into his mouth, Dean smirks into the kiss and, just to test, jerks his hips into Castiel’s.

He’s rewarded with a choked-off, surprised cry and Castiel breaks away, staring at Dean with wide, crazy eyes.

“This is…”

“Awesome,” Dean finishes, subconsciously leaning forwards to try and capture Castiel’s lips back with his own. But Cas is tilts backwards and Dean’s hands fall back to his side. Gentle amusement twitches at the corner of Cas’s mouth. The son of a bitch was teasing him. Dean just wanted to get lost in a mess of sweaty limbs and pleasure, so his mind would stop over-analysing the fact that yeah, he had just made out with a guy willingly and enjoyed it, did that make him into strictly dick now?

“This is what lust does to humans,” Castiel observes, capturing Dean’s head in his hands in one quick movement. Dean tenses, waiting for the contact of lips-on-lips. But Castiel is still teasing, mimicking their previous interaction in the closet, open mouth hovering over open mouth, eyes looking down at them. “You lose control,” his lips brush _ever-so-lightly_ against Dean’s, “I’ve never known why men fall prey to desire so easily.”

“Cas,” Dean whispers urgently, because he feels like he’s about to just combust, erection rock hard in his jeans and endless need suffocating his rational thought, “Please.”

Castiel’s gaze darts upwards and he sees something in Dean’s eyes – want, love, lust – that makes him dip forwards, pressing a feather-light kiss to his mouth.

“I understand now,” Castiel says hoarsely, inquisitive pupils turning dark, filling with heat, “I want you, Dean.”

Dean swallows, brow furrowed and breath catching in his throat.

“I want you too, Cas,” he can’t stretch forward and close the distance – Castiel’s hands are still pressed into his cheeks, freezing his movements. “ _Fuck,_ Cas I want you.” He does the only thing he can do. He rolls his hips forward, getting a full-frontal view of Castiel’s contorted expression.

It breaks the angel, and then they’re kissing again, all rough edges and sharp spikes. Castiel’s hands fall away from Dean’s face and Dean pushes forwards. They both start moving, lips never leaving each other, feet tangling up in each other.

Castiel’s head collides with the ridge of the doorframe, but instead of groaning with pain, he digs his fingertips underneath Dean’s t-shirt. They brush against the muscled abs and Dean has to break their kiss to let out a breathless gasp against Castiel’s bruised lips. His hands have found their way to the back of Castiel’s neck, holding his head in place.

“Clothes,” Dean pants, pressing his forehead to Cas’s, “Do your mojo.”

And then they’re gone, just like that, and Dean could _sigh_ with relief at the cold air that wraps around his cock. His forehead rolls off of Cas’s and onto his now-bare shoulder. _Fuck._ He’s looking at their cocks, not sure whether the sight is disconcerting or arousing. He rolls his hips lightly, their erections brush and _god damn it,_ that is good.

What makes it more perfect is the ‘oh’ that escapes from Castiel’s throat. His hips subconsciously stretch out for more contact, but Dean’s hands have moved and are holding him still.

“Dean,” Castiel sounds agitated and Dean looks up through his eyelashes, a strong smirk on his face.

“Not so good when you’re the one being teased, is it, Cas?”

Castiel clearly isn’t happy with Dean’s smartass-ery, because he starts pushing them with that angelic strength of his – which Dean refuses to admit turns him on just a little – and then Dean’s falling backwards onto Bobby’s armchair. Castiel climbs on top of him slowly, thigh’s brushing thighs, shins brushing shins, and Dean lets out a strangled cry when Castiel pushes their hips together.

“Cas.” He runs his hands up the strong thighs that are bounded on either side of his own and throws his head back again when Castiel grinds their cocks together, releasing a guttural cry of his own.

This is Castiel’s game now; he’s taken control and it’s making Dean… _buzz._

 _Oh man, I’m totally the sub._ __

Castel leans forwards, gripping the back of the armchair so tightly his knuckles turn white. Dean’s looking up at him, blinking dazedly through the haze of pleasure that tears through his spine. Castiel is hovering over him, their mouths brushing together and when he swivels his hips agonisingly slow against Dean’s, Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

“Keep moving,” he orders tightly, pressing his fingertips into Castiel’s thighs in encouragement. Castiel’s eyes have screwed shut and he pushes their cocks together again, gasping.

“It’s overwhelming,” he mutters gruffly into Dean’s ear, arms still caging in Dean’s head. Dean lets out a breathless huff that turns into a moan.

“It gets better,” he said hurriedly and stiffly, because _fuck_ it’s so good, but he wants more. Lots more.

He moves his hand to their cocks, wraps his fingers around the both of them and _Jesus,_ Castiel’s teeth dig into his shoulder, muffling a cry.

“Feel good?” Dean says in amusement, though amusement quickly transforms into desperation. He starts pumping them and then Castiel’s hips aren’t moving in a smooth rhythm anymore – they’re jerky and demanding. Castiel’s arm muscles are tense as his grip on the back of the armchair tightens and he’s expelling these needy, lost little mewls into Dean’s ear that are just too fucking hot.

“Cas,” Dean says for no particular reason. He just likes knowing that he can say it, that this deadly – _so close now –_ pleasure is coming from his angel.

“Dean, it’s…” Castiel cuts himself off with a choke and manages to lift his head from Dean’s shoulders. Their gazes meet.

“Go on, Cas. Let go,” Dean says tenderly. Castiel barrels over the edge and he comes with a shout. Dean watches the wrinkles on his brow deepen, his mouth open and his body tense up _gorgeously ._

The constant winding of string within Dean finally unravels and he’s following Castiel over the edge with a moan, back arching off the chair. The rest of his moan is swallowed, mid-orgasm, by Castiel’s mouth.

When Dean finally comes back down, Castiel is playing with his bottom lip between his teeth, kissing him with a softness that almost hurts. They break apart, sweaty and panting, and just look at each other blankly for what seems like forever.

“Well,” Dean clears his throat and looks down at the sticky mess between them, “That was fun.”

“I didn’t expect this outcome at all,” Castiel says, smile twitching around bruised lips. Dean smiles gently back, eyes bright and wide with awe at just how fucking beautiful Castiel was. Sure, he was a guy. Sure, he was an _angel._ But Dean knew beauty when he saw it. And it was sitting in his lap.

There’s a flutter of wings that almost makes Dean send Castiel off of his lap immediately. Gabriel’s standing in the centre of the room, hand covering his eyes.

“How you doin’?” He does a two-fingered salute, seemingly not bothered by the fact that Dean and Castiel are _naked_ and on top of each other.

“Damnit, douchebag, get the hell out!” Dean exclaims, attempting to cover himself with his hands. Castiel seems unbothered by his nakedness and stays as still as he can in Dean’s lap, looking over his shoulder to his brother.

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you it’s ‘Game Over’. Not sure who the winner is. I mean, I set this up, but you’re the one who gets to spend the rest of his life boning an angel. Guess we’re both winners in the end,” Gabriel sighs, hand still covering his eyes, “You little soldiers were fun. It’s gonna be hard trying to find someone as entertaining as you two knuckleheads. I’ll see you around.” With another two-fingered salute, Gabriel is gone.

Castiel looks back at Dean, whose flushed red from both embarrassment and anger.

“Dean, I think it’d be wise to get dressed before Bobby and Sam get back.”

A shot of panic spreads through Dean at the idea of Bobby and Sam walking in on the two of them, but it soon drifts away when he’s hit with the thought that _wow, he and Cas were actually a thing now._ __

He’s picturing himself being able to get up the next morning and kiss Cas; he’s picturing himself being able to spend the rest of his life mapping out Cas’s body and finding out what he likes; he’s picturing himself frickin’ _holding hands_ with Cas when they walk into a bar. He’s picturing a happy ending – something he’s never, ever had the luxury to even think about.

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring at Castiel with eyes that reveal his every thought and he looks away.

“Right. Right, yeah, good idea.”

-

**11 – And CUT!**

The first time Dean kisses Castiel in front of Sam, Sam ends up snorting a generous helping of Pepsi up his nose. It’s a week after the ‘popsicle incident’ and Sam and Bobby are still totally unaware of the ‘armchair incident’. Of course, they may have had suspicions, what with Dean and Cas suddenly going back to their usual banter, sexual tension relieved.

They’re eating in a diner, Castiel sitting next to Sam, opposite Dean. Dean’s eating pancakes with strawberry sauce, listening to Sam blather on about how the shapeshifter they were hunting only takes the form of women. Dean’s not listening. He’s too busy trying to not notice the hard, unrelenting gaze Castiel has on him, which is both arousing and disconcerting.

When he does eventually look up, Castiel is taking a sip of his frothy coffee – one of his favourite ‘beverages’. He places the cup back on the table and Dean smiles. There’s a milky moustache along the top of Castiel’s lip.

“You’re got…” Dean trails off and lets out a breathless laugh at the confusion on the angels face. He glances at Sam, who’s taking a deep glug of Pepsi. _Well, now is as good a time as any._ __

Instead of giving Cas a napkin or stretching across to wipe his thumb along the froth, Dean stands up, leans over the table, captures Castiel’s chin in his hand and then surges forward to kiss him.

It’s brief, but he still manages to taste the bitterness of coffee and the creaminess of the milk.

When he pulls away, Castiel has his eyes closed like some dazzled princess and Dean smirks into his face.

Dean blatantly ignores the ugly snort from beside him and waits for Castiel to open his eyes and look at him. He does, and they’re sparkling.

Dean draws away and sits back in seat, eating his pancakes like nothing had happened and blatantly ignoring his choking brother opposite him.

“Dean?”

Dean hides his smile and looks up at Sam questionably.

“What?”

Sam blinks and an unsure smile flickers about his lips.

“Did you… Um, did you just kiss Cas?”

Dean spares Castiel an amused glance.

“Yep.”

Sam stares at him for a long minute and then nods.

“Okay.”

And that’s all he says.

-

The first time he and Cas show their affection for each other in front of Bobby, Dean doesn’t even realise.

Bobby walks into what has now become ‘Dean’s bedroom’ and stops short.

Dean and Castiel are under the covers of the single bed, Dean’s arms thrown over Castiel’s waist and feet poking out of the other end of the blanket. Castiel doesn’t notice Bobby’s presence and if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s too busy mapping out Dean’s face with his index finger.

Bobby withdraws from the room as quietly as he can and closes the door with a soft click. Once he’s on the other side, he smirks and shakes his head.

“Took their time, idgits.”

-

Gabriel’s sitting up on the cliffs of Dover in deep meditation, thinking.

He’s bored. Again.

Playing with his little brother had been fun, but the victory had worn off substantially quickly. He’d given his brother and the dumbass Winchester a happy ending, which was all well and good, but now there was no one to irritate—

 _Oh._ __

How had he been so stupid? Gabriel breaks out of his meditation and smirks out into the open sea. He’s disappointed in how long it took, really, to come up with a new game to play. __

 _There was more than one Winchester._ __

With a mischievous grin, he unfurls his wings and then heads off to his new target.

 


End file.
